gravel
shovel
dig the earth with nails and teeth

and huddle
in puddles
of pain and insecurity

we're brain dead
you hate it
our words are mud
and sticks
and stones

and you cant
feel them
clawing at your skin and bones and

you keep peering out into the souls
of everyone
of every mold that broke
before one broke with you

and in this sameness sea we drift
another face
another place
to die
as strangers
often
do.